A Life without Autumn
by Sternenlicht
Summary: What did Padmé know about ObiWan when they first met? Not much. Except for his name, there was only one thing. A deeply disturbing thing.... Padmé's POV. NO Obidala.


4

A/N: Well, here is it! Having written in other fandoms before, this is my very first StarWars story! All of this is Obi-Wan's fault. Or Ewan McGregor's. Whoever of these two you wish to blame g Just looking too good….

The piece here is something that's been on my mind for quite some time, so one sunny morning I thought, "hey, let's write it down". That's the result. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I wish I'd own Obi-Wan, but as I still was not George Lucas last time I looked in the mirror, I fear the characters are not mine. What a pity. (If I think about it, the beard would give me a really distinguishing look….)

_A Life without Autumn_

How does someone live with the knowledge that his life will not end peacefully? To know that simply falling asleep after a long life is not possible?

I wonder as I watch him. He is still young, not much older than I am myself. Perhaps ten years – hardly anything compared to everyone I am usually surrounded by.

And I am old for my fourteen years – I have to be. But how much older than his twentyfive must he be? When did the man next to him – his master, so I was told – speak to him of what I have learned only some hours ago while perusing the archives in order to get to know something about these two men that have come to protect me?

With their lives, they said, but I had not been able to grasp the meaning behind this before having read about their Order with the eyes of a Queen.

Jedi – every child knows that name, and every one admires it – me too. Every child wants to be a Jedi, and every one plays with wooden lightsabers, imagining what if…. me too.

But now I cannot understand this desire any longer. Childish games, these were. Everyone should be happy and glad not to be Jedi, for then they can look forward to a long life, ending with dying in peace.

Sure, there are people whose lives do not end peacefully. Some are murdered, or sickness makes their passing away painful. But they do not have to live all of their days with the knowledge about this death. They do not have the certainty until the last moments. A Jedi knows for all of his moments.

And sure, we have soldiers, but they decide to become fighters. Jedi do not. There is no possibility of saying 'no'. And, if I am honest, when does a soldier really have to fight? Naboo has not seen a war in the span of more than a thousand years. Generations of soldiers who were no soldiers, but died when their time had come.

In the very same time thousands of Jedi died fighting. Only some of those who sat in the High Council died without their lightsabers in their hands. None of the others had a peaceful death, and all of their lives ended abruptly.

How do you live with the knowledge that it is this that awaits you? To know that your life will end in its spring and that there will be no autumn?

He is calm as I watch him out of the corner of my eyes. True, I should focus on what the older of the two tells me – of taking me to a safe place, of leaving Naboo – but my thoughts always return to his young companion. He shines with a radiance I cannot explain. I have never felt something like that before. It is not the radiance of a young man – there are thousands of those on Naboo and I would recognize it. But it comes from a deeper place – one I do not know about.

His master can sense it, I feel that, because there is a glow in the man's eyes that does not come from within. This, however, I recognize. The young man is not his son, but he loves him as if he were.

How old was the apprentice when his master spoke to him of how his life will end? Or do Jedi grow up with the knowledge and do not need to be told?

But I guess this one was told. A father does not leave his child in uncertainty, and mine told me everything he knew about what becoming Queen would mean for my life. He spoke of the dangers of such high a position, of the fears I would have to overcome, and yes, he also spoke about the possibility of me falling victim to an assassin.

He almost shook with fear when he said that, although he tried to hide it. Still, I remember his words exactly, because I promised him that I would return to my parents after my term, unscathed and most definitely still alive. I promised him to have a long life and to die only when I was wrinkled and my back bent, when I had lived for a thousand years and could not count my grandchildren any more.

It was a silly promise, but my father was comforted.

There would have been no such comfort for the master. He must have known that he could only speak the truth to the child before him, and that there was no other way. Maybe the apprentice had been barely five years, but I cannot really imagine the master burdening such a young one with such a knowledge.

Would he have been able to understand it at that time? No, I do not believe that, but how can you come to terms with it when you are only told it when you are older? Ten, fourteen, eighteen? Would I have been able to cope with that knowledge four years ago? No. Now? Not really. And in four years? When I would really have come to love and understand life? No.

How would I live with the knowledge of a painful death when still young? To know that my leaf would not softly glide to earth in my life's autumn, but that it would be ripped off cruelly?

He has caught me watching him. I look into his cerulean eyes, thinking about what I have been thinking about before. A fine smile, barely perceptible, creeps into his eyes, and I have to concentrate to not cry. Or laugh.

For I do not know what to feel. There is this young man, radiant and full of life. Beautiful, if I were not Queen and he not Jedi. But almost I see a shadow lurking behind him, hiding in the folds of his robe, waiting for the right moment. And even the master at his side cannot protect him, for the same shadow lingers in his presence – never to leave, I know now.

The young man's face is calm again. I have never seen a Jedi other than him and his master, but in the archives I gathered a notion of how a Jedi should be. If I were asked now I would say that he has everything the order could wish for in one of their own. A radiant calm, if that is possible. And if I were asked I would also say that the order should protect him. To give him a position that would not lead to a painful death while fighting. To not let a blaster end his life before not even one single gray hair has appeared in the ginger strands, now almost golden in the setting Naboo sun.

If asked I would say the order should look after those that are so great that they prevent a planet's Queen from thinking about her protection, worrying only about the safety of the one before her.

But they will not. They will send him to fight and war and death. And when I seek his eyes again, I know that it is not wrong. Maybe not right, but also not wrong. For he is a Jedi, and he lives for fight and for war, and ultimately, he also lives for death.

I shiver.

The master turns. He wants me to stay here while he and his apprentice join my guard to defend the palace. To defend my life, as they have promised.

With their lives.

Both of them bow. Bow before the Queen of Naboo, whom they do not know, who to them is only a name and a position. But they are Jedi, and if they feel me shiver with the autumn-cold of my knowledge, they do not give it away.

For a moment I catch the young man's eyes again. And for a moment I lose myself in them. Then he turns away and follows his master, to fight and war and death.

Obi-Wan Kenobi. His name is everything I know about him. This and that he will die in pain.

A/N: Hope you liked it. Please leave a review! Thank you!


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